Niño Josele - (self-titled)

Niño Josele
(self-titled), Sony BMG
2003

Although many Americans having found their way to Ottmar Liebert, Jesse Cook, or Strunz & Farah via PBS specials or the purchase of a discount cd, it is lamentable to think that probably a good number of them stopped developing their understanding of what flamenco music is not long afterwards.  The trouble is that the above artists often don't use much of the flamenco traditions.  The "rumba" for example, a rhythm that is often associated with flamenco (and which Liebert, Cook, and S&F use to exhaustion), is actually a Cuban rhythm.  Although some pure flamenco guitarists *might* use it (surely, Paco de Lucia got worldwide attention secondary to his release of a rumba tune in 1976 called "Entre Dos Aguas"), it is known to be on the periphery of flamenco.  Alongside their severely limited use of true flamenco forms and rhythms is their severely limited hand techniques: despite the art being largely noted for complicated techniques utilizing the fingers (a variety of rasgueados, picado, golpe, alzapua) Cook and Strunz & Farah use guitar picks.  And so, the actual "flamenco experience" offered by the above artists is somewhat comparable to one thinking they know what Italian cuisine is, on the grounds that they just ate an Oscar Mayer "Lunchables" pizza combination.

The problem for New Wave, New Age, and neo-pseudo-quasi-flamenco guitarists is that one knows little of flamenco by a guitar alone.  Without the guitarist's counterparts of the cantaore (singer) and the bailaores (dancers), much of the guitar work lacks purpose.  The singers and dancers of flamenco give the guitar its true utilization, and these vocal and dance forms are a large part of the reason why there is such a solid and long-held tradition for the guitar.  The flamenco experience was about families, gathering together in their cave homes in Spain.  If you couldn't play guitar, you might play percussion; if not percussion, then perhaps palmeros (a rather sophisticated rhythmic accompaniment through clapping, often involving 2 different patterns played simultaneously by two or more people).  If not las palmas, perhaps you could sing, and if not singing, perhaps you could dance.  If you can't dance, well then... there are always dishes that need to be done.

Another consideration is that a good number of purest flamenco rhythms are based not in the 4 beats, as a rumba, but are understood as 12 beats -- a system referred to as Compás. The 12-beat forms often have subdivisions of 2's and 3's, and specific emphatic points within that, making it much more complicated than what New Wave flamenco artists often attempt.  So much of the true color of flamenco music is in these forms and the purpose of the forms to the art collective (musicians AND dancers AND singers).  For example, the Siguiriya is often considered a tune where the cantaore should pour out his or her most heart-breaking revelations and sorrows on living, and the structured progression of different parts that is traditionally in an Alegria (a different 12-based rhythm) is largely a formula that flamenco dancers know and are familiar with.

Other characteristics outside of the guitar-work include the singing style.  The "stressed" or broken sound in the voice bears an element of tonality, and also an element of fray or abrasiveness.  Although the historical reasoning for this being part of the flamenco tradition is plain to see (expansion and influence of the Umayyad empire and migration of the Romani people), it is uncanny how much the often-revered voice in flamenco is comparable to that of the styles of Pakistani Qawwali singers like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, or Egyptian singers like Yasin al-Tuhami.  Look for yourself:

Egyptian, Sheikh Yasin Al-Tuhami

Pakistani, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Spanish, Duquende

 Referred to as "gorgorito," this fractured (or "gorged") yelling quality of the voice is sought after in children to inherit the vocal tradition.  It is also important to note that, like many folk traditions, the music is not so much about making sounds in accordance with perfect adherence to an algebraic principle, but rather that the passion, the execution, and the convincing sentience of the artist -- the communication of emotion -- is what is valued. As examples, much-loved flamenco cantaores like La Paquera de Jerez and José Mercé are seldom singing in tune with the guitar chords that surround their voice, but this is their style, and it is not seen as a drawback by very many:


If there's one thing to admire about the tradition of flamenco players, it is the unmasked sincerity in their expression -- which is what seems to be the most-rewarded characteristic by the audience.  Non-musical elements of emotion end up making it into the mix of the art, and it is not uncommon for the style of many singers to utilize a sobbing quality while transitioning through a series of notes.  Some examples are Enrique Morente and this Jesusy-looking dude (El Torta) in Carlos Saura's "Flamenco":

With all that in mind, Niño Josele is one who has proven himself to be both a strong bearer of the traditions of flamenco (via the now out-of-print album "Calle Ancha," back in 1995), and a notable pioneer.  This 2003 self-titled album shows his willingness to work with elements that have influenced flamenco in both the near and distant past -- namely Arabic culture and jazz. Many flamenco artists have been utilizing really dense jazz chords over the years, and the brilliant pianist/guitarist/jazzist producer Javier Limón has been passed around among flamenco artists more than a joint at a Led Zeppelin concert. On the other side of the influence scale, from the Arab world, one might say the whole history of flamenco music as it is owes its sound to the Arab world:

With the Umayyad expansion across north Africa and into Spain, they brought their instruments with them.

Umayyad expansion at its greatest, 661 - 750 AD

Of course, the Arabs didn't have a guitar, they had an oud: the fretless round-backed wonder of the Arab world.

Oud

Vihuela

So the Arabian term "al oud" got translated to Spanish as "La Oud,"; Europeans take La Oud (and some of the design) and make the fretted instrument called the "lute" -- which would eventually be the guitar.  There were many other luthier experiments in between, and at the same time, so it's hard to qualify a direct lineage.  The manufacture of the lute and guitar seems largely of Arabian origins, but the word guitar comes from the old Greek "kithara" -- even though the composition of a guitar resembles nearly nothing of the harp-like nature of it's ancient Greek namesake.  The seemingly most-immediate predecessor of the guitar was called the vihuela in Spain and Portugal, and it was essentially what you called a lute with a flat (or mostly-flat) back.  Notice that the tuning pegs of a vihuela are driven through the back of the headstock, and not from the sides.  This is unlike many modern guitars, and unlike the oud itself.  Flamenco guitars acquire this from its lineage of the vihuela, and I've even seen some luthiers here in Colorado building flamenco guitars with the pegs in this traditional fashion.

Put quite simply, every redneck raving about a Creedence Clearwater Revival tune's guitar solo should, in a way, thank an Arabian woodworker -- historically speaking.

In addition to physical woodworking or manufacturing history, another important Arabic element of flamenco (besides instrumentation, and besides singing styles) is the musical scales.  From its gypsy roots, flamenco artists have largely harped on what they call the "Freygish" scale, or phrygian dominant scale: a scale common to the musics of Persia, Greece, Jews, and the Arab world.  There are variations, but largely, the Freygish scale is one with a flattened 2nd, as well as a flattened and 6th and/or 7th.  Probably not by coincidence, one of the Arab world's most-played scales is a maqam (their equivalent term for a scale) called 'hijaz'.  Again, though there are variations, most variations of hijaz include the flattened 2nd, as well as a flattened 6th or 7th.  Aside from scales, consider the palmeros: those layered hand-clapping styles mentioned earlier.  A brief trip to the musics of Morocco can show you that there just might be some relationship between the palmero function in flamenco music, and the function of the qarkabeb (massive metal castanets) in Moroccan music.  Although the rhythms have different feels and lengths, their 'place' within the music is very similar.  Look for yourself:

Qarkabeb in Moroccan music of the Gnawa people.

Palmeros in Flamenco music of the Spanish people.

So then, ... it should be of little surprise that a flamenco artist, in messing around with influences, invites into his album both "modern" jazz tunes, as in this rendition of "Beautiful Love," re-titled, "Miel, canela y yerbagüena," with Israel Sandoval on electric guitar and Paquete on mandolin:


...as well as old Moroccan folk rhythms, for a tune called Zawiya:


Some of the truer flamenco moments shine through on his self-titled album, including "Cosas de Amores," a tune with master vocalist Enrique Morente, citing words apparently by early 20th century Spanish poet Manuel Machado.  The song isn't performed without a touch of jazz sensibilities: Niño's solo fires through passages stunningly, utilizing the peculiarity of the whole-tone scale (starting at 53 seconds in this excerpt).  This is a scale utilized by Josele also in his 2001 release, "El Sorbo," with jazz producer Javier Limón:


Leaning on the more flamenco side of things is, "Llanto de Sal," which has wonderful moments of jazzy approaching chords and a wanderlust in its chord progression, as shown in this clip...


...and "Estirpe," a buleria featuring another wonderful cantaor, Guadiana:


Josele's experimentation with jazz would find him doing whole jazz albums, like "Paz" in 2007, which shows him working with a large portion of jazz pianist Bill Evans's repertoire.



Depending on which side of the fence you're on, the strength (or the fault) of Niño Josele's self-titled album may be that he worked so much out of the context of traditional flamenco.  This may be received as a problem for someone wanting a traditional repertoire from a great player, but one has to consider: all the new ideas that players might later incorporate into their tradition in a more natural way need to come from somewhere.  Certainly the success of Paco de Lucia's work "Cositas Buenas" with Javier Limon is an indication that audiences loved the new approach in the traditional context.  Perhaps then we should appreciate what the musical explorer does in their journey, and enjoy watching them go along their way, rather that cling to our own expectations of what their individual art is.  Besides, if the album seems too unapproachable... there's always Ottmar Liebert.

--Seth Premo

Alio Die - Circo Divino

Alio Die & Parallel Worlds
Circo Divino2010

There's a ton of music out there in the world, and back in the day, being a musician meant making a financial investment in needing to rent out space at a studio.  If you were fortunate enough to own all of the highly-specialized gear for your own studio, then perhaps you could meddle freely, but in most cases, meddling and experimentalism among popular artists was not a large component of recordings.  Recent technological and social advancements have brought us to a world that, in terms of creating, recording, and sharing music, we are much more free to do as we please, when we please, and make it available across the whole world for all those that might appreciate it.  This de-homogenization and accessibility of the arts makes us aware of a whole new range of artists, as well as the messages and implications of their work.  Ambient works were seemingly less-produced and harder to come by way back when, but in the pathways of the electronic web, the issues isn't "if" you can find, so much as "what" you can find.  Ambient music may only have a following in certain circles of people thus far, but in assessing it's function and affect on a listener, I can't imagine that not changing -- especially since the start of albums based more on mood than on music in the 60's - 70's, and the booming of the movie soundtrack market in the 80's.

Occasionally, in any given musical style, there are what one might call "moments of sublimation."  These moments are the ones where the feeling of what is happening in sound really transcends words -- whether it's the unanimous swelling of a harmony in fiddles during a folk tune, or the interplay of different rhythms and timbres in an electronic dance composition.  The sad thing is, that moment is often short-lived.  Alio Die's (Stefano Musso) work continues to be impressive in ways that is hard to articulate, but you might say that he uses sounds of anything in any way he chooses in order to create a sustained moment of sublimation.  As a listener, whether you're focusing on the execution of a Bach prelude, the progression of a chain of melodies in a Greek syrto, or the words of a pop artist, you're being told a story.  Most of these forms of music are indicating a path of feeling through a progression of notes, or their musical forms, and (even more directly in singer/songwriters) their lyricism.  The work of Alio Die and other great ambient artists doesn't really follow that schema.  The best of ambient artists seem to concern themselves with the feeling that the sound itself creates, independent of its notational value -- its affect.  Consider the difference that a recording of water in a tidal pool is from that of the firing of a rocket.  In both of these examples, the "note value" of the sounds are largely irrelevant, yet the difference in psychological impact is remarkable.  This difference in focus might be considered analogous to this modified image of a Persian rug:

The notationalist's focus is largely the congruency of patterns and their definition, and the ambient artist's focus is the individual & combined affect of the colors, textures, and the mood they create.  Although the texture and ambiance of the sound itself seems to play the dominant role, Alio Die uses a bit of both worlds by incorporating modified recordings of organic instrumentation and manipulating it electronically.

The first track, "Lost Fractales," is a soundscape reminiscent of some of the environments that edgier electronic musicians, such as Future Sound of London, have alluded to, but only momentarily.  The slicing and manipulation of vocal samples atop chiming tones and a faint airy rhythmic element provides quite a wonderful domain:


"Sorinel," features some vocal lyricism, although it largely enveloped by the environmentals: 


"Electrostatic Forest" could be one of my favorite Alio Die tracks, and is exemplary of one of the traits that I found most enjoyable: a sense of mixed time.  The samples used (dulcimer work, water, some digital synth, perhaps a flute or whistle, perhaps some vocals) all seem to be played at different speeds and/or have a damper on set frequencies:


In "Slide of Grace" comes another great model of his work: electronically-coordinated drips of varying emphasis provide the rhythm in the foreground, and the background is held together by a deep and vaporous under-layment of slowed-down sustained notes by a solo vocalist -- very reminiscent of the Aura Seminalis album:


Alio Die's style seems to be in an amalgamation of *all* things: field recording of nature, his own organic instrumentation, electronic manipulation, and one of his albums (Tripudium Naturae) utilizes recordings of someone playing a Norwegian hardingfele (or Hardanger fiddle).  It's worth mentioning, that although some of the sound is not created by the musician, it's in no way "unskilled."  Although I'm not sure of his specific set-up, many of computer applications that electronic or ambient artists often use has the appearance and complex functionality equal to that of a space shuttle, and, to fully utilize, can require an understanding of sound and engineering similar to that of an audiologist and/or recording engineer.  Additionally, since the ambient artist is often *not* working with audio of the same rhythms, natures, series of notes, or otherwise predictable patterns, one has to know well their samples in order to steer the experience in the desired direction -- and Alio Die's works are always splendidly blended.

After careful and attentive listening sessions, one comes to the question of, "What is it that is trying to be communicated in this music?  Is it sadness; wonderment; oblivion; transcendence?"  It could be any of those.  It could be a largely projective experience.  Also, it could just make you sleepy.  But maybe some modest audio during an era where things tend to be pushed to extremes is a good thing.  There's been a small but perhaps warranted backlash in modern societies which perceive appreciation for things like "fast food," frantic film editing styles in cinema, and the micromanagement of most of the time in one's life -- in the form of the cultural shift advocated by the Slow Movement, for example.  At any rate, Alio Die's work makes me appreciate the speed of "slow" with an emphasis on "feel", and I always leave an experience of listening far better than I arrived.

--Seth Premo

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Aruna Sairam

Aruna Sairam
Divine Inspiration
World Village USA
2008


The genre of South Indian classical vocalism is not the easiest thing for the west to approach, but, as the cross-pollination of multi-cultural influences in the arts accelerates due to the internet, maybe it’s getting a little easier -- surely Bombay Jayashri’s Oscar nomination for her work on the theme song for the movie “Life of Pi” might indicate that. To western ears, the Carnatic tradition of singing holds many peculiarities, such as seemingly long, uneven, or odd-numbered beats as a basis, solo segments for the vocalist utilizing words that indicate the notes of a scale (“Sa, Re, Ga, Ma, Pa, Da, Ni, Sa” – the Indian equivalent of “Do, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do”), very loose slurs & slides (known as “meend”) that seem unapproachable on much western instrumentation, and the rapid-firing of repetitious passages that are outside of the given beat cycle. Proof of the differences between western and eastern audiences is also apparent by how many Indian classical musicians change their performance nature, depending on whether they are playing for a western or eastern audience: Indian audiences can appreciate a lengthy and explorative alap (the initial, beat-less movement of a soloist’s slow introduction to the tonal structure [called a raag] -- which can range anywhere from 2 – 25 or more minutes). These sections are often omitted or shortened for performances in non-Indian countries, largely because the meditative nature of the alap seems not quite as “entertaining” to many western short attention spans.

In addition to the structural elements above, a Carnatic vocalist’s art might also seem at first unpalatable due to the very nature of the style’s sound. An examination of the works of highly-acclaimed Carnatic singers such as Girija Devi, Nithyasree Mahadevan, or the earlier works of Suddha Ragunathan shows that, at least in some circles, what appears favorable is a rather strong, tense, and almost buzzing nature of the voice that seems to come from pushing the tone to the top and front of the throat. In this way, Carnatic singers can be a bit of an acquired taste. But, once that hurdle is overcome, one begins to appreciate the ringing tones of the vocalist as that of any other instrument. The nature of Aruna Sairam’s voice appears largely in this style.  Noting that there is a difference between the western and eastern ears, this album, Divine Inspiration, seems to be geared toward both: a couple of “heavier” and longer tracks in the middle of the album, with some wonderful shorter tunes to start and to end.

The opening track, “Om sakti Om,” is a bit of an “Indian standard,” with a nature hard to not love.  There's also something about the nature of the hard clacking sound that comes from the ghatam (clay pot drum).  Although it isn't as much of a "standard instrument" in Indian recordings as tabla or mridangam, when it is there, it does add quite a pleasing character:



Track two, "Govinda Leena Mol," is one of Mirabaj's bhajans.  Mirabaj, considered a saint in the 15th century perhaps even before her death, fought rigid Indian traditionalism by celebrating a life of devotion toward Krishna until the end of her days -- despite pressures and ill-will from the family of her arranged marriage to devote herself to her husband.  Here, Mirabaj reflects on how she "bought" god by paying the price of devotional love to Krishna.

It is moments in tunes such as this where Aruna's colors really shine.  By sustaining certain moments of the tune, and playing with them melodically while the rhythms dance under her, she is really showing some musical wisdom:

Leena bhaja ke dol, Mayire Maine Govinda Leena mol Mira ke prabhu Giridhar nagar Mira ke prabhu Giridhar nagar, Giridhar nagar Purva janam ka bol, Mayire Maine Govinda Leena mol, Mayire Maine Gopala Leena mol…

I paid the price with my drumming, I bought Govinda Mira knows that this bond, Mira knows that this bond, this bond Is drawn from lives past I bought Govinda I bought Gopala

Another highlight of the album comes in the form of "Saravanabhava," which has an energy hard to keep down, ...



... and, on the other side of the spectrum is the slower and more contemplative energy of "Rangapura Vihara," written by none other than Muthuswamy Dikshitar.  That's right: I said, "Dikshitar"...



Finally, the album closes with a Tillana: a lively and highly-variable piece meant to show of the skillsets of vocalist, and, when they're involved, the Bharatanatyam dancer.  One aspect of the vocal element of a Tillana is the use of onomatopoetic representations of the drum sounds, which usually gets into very satisfying super-fast bits:



In the course of the last year, I've seen myself go from having a desire to hear only one or two tracks off the album, to loving and knowing well each individual track, except one or two.  It might be a hard place to find room in one's palette for Carnatic vocal music, but if you make room, you'll really love that place.
-Seth Premo

Frifot - (untitled, 1999)

Frifot

(untitled; 1999)
ECM Records (Out of print)

This is probably my favorite of their work. This album shows the diversity in the beauty of the groups folk-style playing: some tunes emphasize vocals, some straight-up tunes, some moments have loose solo instrumentation. Although the band seems to be centered around 3 players (viola, violin, and mandola/cittern), they additionally play other instruments, such as various flutes, pipes, harmonica, dulcimer, cowhorn, etc.

Most of the tracks are stunning.  Fafänglighet features fiddle harmonies that crosses over each other, and the tempo seems to fluctuate.  There are moments where it seems the tune might come to a screeching halt, and times when it feels like they're racing through a portion of their melody.  But, as you can easily hear in the quieter passages, their feet are tapping on the 1st and 3rd beat of every measure, and their playing stays totally in time:

There are times where the players seem to be straining the volume and tonal abilities of their instrument to their peak, especially on their harmonies:

There is also a sense of "melodic compression" in a couple of the tunes... Where a main melody is repeated, or its rhythm is condensed or altered, with a lesser note value than originally introduced, until it catches up with the beat once again.

The one track the stands out the most is "I Hela Naturen/Mjukfoten."  Divinely executed, it starts like a loosely-woven ballad with Ale and Lena.  Moving into a solid rhythm on solo mandola, fiddles come in only for last minute or so and truly take it to supernatural planes with engulfing dynamics:

Naghmeh Farahmand - Unbound

Naghmeh Farahmand
Unbound

naghmehfarahmand.bandcamp.com

Being a great tombak player is comparable to being a great violinist, in that it requires the same level of conditioning, nuanced placement, and application of the fingers.  Many Eastern traditional percussion instruments have, by their very design, the potential for a great range of sounds.  The rich historical guru branches and diverse techniques built from that have resulted in giving the tombak player a vast lexicon to work with – one that is expanding and being polished by every generation.  This could be why, like the Indian tabla, the tombak is showing resurgence and integration with other folk ensembles outside of the Persian or Kurdish traditions.

Unfortunately, it is not uncommon for the tombak to take a back seat in music for Persian classical ensemble: either playing long phrases that revolve around melody instrumentation and the poetry sung, or in playing repetitive trance-like phrases.  Thus, Unbound is a great title for performance of this context, as most tracks run through phases of rhythms and instrumentation and can change spontaneously.  These changes sometimes add to what’s already there, and other times totally redirect tension to forge a parallel rhythmic sensibility – ultimately combining and culminating what has been built.  The result in being unbound is intimate illumination of the dense, variegated nature of both the player and the instruments.

As a player, Naghmeh has great and consistent technique; as an artist, her playing is marked with clever hooks and phrasings.  Despite being of small origins, the production quality is top-notch, and although Unbound runs shorter than an average full-length album, it is very diverse and does not suffer from “overdub in excess.”  Its nature makes it a great introduction to exotic percussion instruments of the area (for the audiophile), or a great source of inspiration for modern or tribal dance (for dance addict).  Best yet, in making a solo album, Naghmeh is utilizing her artistic license – a passport that could bring her and her playing to a great many new and outside-the-box contexts that both develop her as a musician, and bring forth wonderful fruit to the expectant listener.

-Seth Premo

Quintetto Nigra - Sonno Fortunado

Quintetto Nigra (Polifonie dal Piemonte)
Sonno Fortunato

Felmay (www.felmay.it / info@felmay.it)

It seems there is a trend in the choral or vocal music recordings to produce albums in a church, or perhaps large cathedral.  Though the natural echo and reverb provided by such locations yields ambience, these conditions run the risk of undermining both the skills of the vocalists, and the clarity of the arrangement’s organization.  Beautiful works by the Bulgarian Pirin Singers, the Celtic choir Anúna, and works of the Scandinavian composer Knut Nystedt have all compromised musical clarity for the sake of atmosphere.
Sonno Fortunato by Italy’s Quintetto Nigra is not a recording in such spatial conditions, thankfully, and this aural intimacy affords the listener a front-row seat to their excellence in execution, arrangement, and musicality.

The work’s subject is the traditional folk songs of the northwestern Piedmontese region of Italy, on the border with France.   As such, the tunes are inherently full of the essence of the people’s lives, both lyrically and musically: “Më séu chatà 'n marì,” features some tonal sighing and even culminates into a brief span of laughter at one point...


The first verse of, “Vous voulez me faire chanter,” is performed folk-style by the local singer from whom they acquired the song.  The arrangements are highly ambitious but cohesive, and the quintet’s skills match these ambitions: at times, an uncannily accurate deep bass tone or dense tetrachord can seem to stifle a listener’s cognizance.


Their voices are perfected instruments, and it shows in moments where the harmony is dense...

...in how they emulate instrumentation by singing onomatopoetically...

...and in their use of surges in volume for rhythmic accentuation...

What better way to remember the stories and sensibilities of your peoples’ yesterdays than to breathe new life into older tunes?  Quintetto Nigro succeeds in making a highly memorable recording.

-Seth Premo

Bijan Chemirani/Kevin Sedikki - Imaginarium

Kevin Seddiki & Bijan Chemirani

Imaginarium World Village (www.worldvillagemusic.com)

Bijan Chemirani and his brother Keyvan are both prodigies of the Persian drum master, Djamchid Chemirani, and their seemingly implacable desire to integrate with other musicians around the world is evident in their history of releases. Since their monolithic 1997 release, Trio de Zarb, the family’s musical wanderlust has led them all over the world.  Bijan’s travels brought him to record with African balafon and kora players (Neba Solo Trio, Ballaké Sissoko), masters of Greek music (Ross Daly, Stelios Petrakis), East Indian Carnatic vocalists (Sudha Ragunathan), as well as multi-instrumentalist wizards like Efrén López.  Kevin Seddiki also plays percussion, but his primary foundation is guitar, working with the likes of Al di Meola, Glenn Velez, and Lebanese artist Yasmine Hamdan.  He has recorded and performed with Bijan before, as part of the Oneira 6tet, and his playing on 2008’s Orion with Stelios Petrakis was more than enough to rouse curiosity and appreciation for whatever technique and background gave him his sound.

Imaginarium presents both new work and some well-known jazz tunes stemming from the two artists. The new tunes are not the least bit unambitious in their rhythms: “19 Bridges” is a tune written for 19 beats (or what in Indian culture they often refer to as a 9 ½ beat cycle)...


...and some tunes have cycles more common to Persian culture (the 10/8 in “Sar Andjam,” and the 5/8 for “On Saturn’s Rings”).  There is also a tune based in 11-beat cycles, “Schumannsko,” and the rhythm that underlays the Africanesque sounds in “Bamako” is based on a count of 15. This variety comes in addition to the more familiar jazz nature of the Brazilian chorinho tune “Cochichando,”...


...and a beautiful jazz variant of the Charles Aznavour/Jacques Plante tune, “La bohême.”


Some sounds coming from the drums and guitar are new as well. The zarb used in “On Saturn’s Rings” is a newer modification to the drum where snares are applied, resulting in a hybrid sound combining zarb and cajón. In the same track, the guitar’s foreign harmonies, pick slides, and chirps, paint an otherworldly picture upon a beat with shifting rhythmic emphasis.


The guitar work in “Bamako” sounds frayed, as if paper were covering the sound hole of the instrument. The tone is still there, but a subtle rattle accompanies each note, and its intensity matches the volume of what is played. The outcome is an atmosphere of frailty or brokenness that affords more than if the guitar were played standard.


Although it can’t be referred to as a fault, the big cross-cultural collaborative projects they have both participated in (with the numerous personnel and talents onboard) can often create an album that is very intensive – where the most relaxed moment is a brief intro preceding the tune, or an individual‘s solo/taksim. Imaginarium comes from a different angle: brave in its exploration, subtler in its energies, and giving much attention to painting an atmosphere by including techniques that are more than just stunts, but sounds inherent to the nature of the work. As an album both exotic and familiar, and mindful and gentler in its energies, Imaginarium satisfies deeply. -Seth Premo

Stelios Petrakis - Orion

Stelios PetrakisOrion

I first became aware of Mr. Petrakis through his work with the stringed instrumentation of Ross Daly, and also the Chemirani: a family of profound Persian percussionists.  I purchased this on a whim.
Glad I did.

Bill Bruford, the drummer of Yes, King Crimson, and Earthworks, used a metaphor, "polishing the diamond," once in an interview. That is the best depiction of what Stelios has done with this album; all his work with multi-cultural instrumentalists has been applied to this fruit (Orion) to perfection.

I tend to find much of Greek music to be riotously festive; whirling chains of melodies to a very solid, interesting beat. Two great additions on this disc are the common use of bagpipes, and the use of guitar. To include all the instruments used would be insane. Generally, the album includes rhythm, string, and wind instruments from Greece, Crete, Turkey, Spain, India, northern Africa, Iran, eastern Europe, and the western classical tradition.

What's striking about this album (that doesn't happen as much in the cultural music) is it's blended, symphonic sound. World artists, in collaboration, can seem to add their musical "two cents worth" at all times; leading to everyone jamming out very well, but negating a project's possible breadth. In doing so, the players are very good at creating tracks with a single essence or feeling. This album has a much more premeditatively-symphonic sound; as if many different musical roads & ideas were traveled and ruminated upon before deciding the application within the tune. Any given track will have parts when 'these' instruments play, but 'those' don't, for example, and vice versa. Additionally, each instrumentalist's skills are highlighted, but never dominating for extended periods of time.

Walking through the first four tracks opens doors to show:
Some wonderfully-layered string instrumentation in the intro, and vocals by Mitsos Stavrakakis, whose voice gets more confident and bold with each passing verse:


Syrtos dance tunes in the form of "Pare Me Nyhta" -- a raucous, fast-paced chain of melodies:


Some truly satisfying and entertaining interplay between instruments during the jam section "Orion and Pleione":


To Alogaki Tis Nyhtias, starting out with a most wonderful flamenco-esque guitar intro, moves into beautifully-sung verses, upheld by subtle guitar and slow-rolling bendir (frame drum) beat. The lyrical nature of the melody is accentuated during the chorus harmonies of lyra, cello, and flute:


The strident and mixed instrumentation of "Kainouria Agapi"; a tune which seems to cohesively go 15 different directions:


Track 6 has guitar pioneering the way in the beginning as well, breaking into high-speed Balkan-esque folk nature in no time. Despite the 8 1/2 minute length of the track, it never feels repetitive, continuously moving through a series of different melody variations and choice instruments.

There's lots to love about the Mediterranean-rooted sounds on this album, and its coupling with other elements: flamenco, carnatic (south Indian), Persian, and Balkan. All elements are applied with first-rate production quality, and the musicianship is in complete service of the music as a whole. Maybe the only concerning thing for Stelios Petrakis is that, after making an album of this magnitude, where does one go from here?
-Seth Premo

http://www.steliospetrakis.com/
http://www.aerakis.net/music/ethnic-world-music/stelios-petrakis-orion.html